


Flash Flood

by Elke Tanzer (elke_tanzer)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ConStrict Zine, Dubious Consent, First Time, Incest, M/M, one of my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-07
Updated: 2007-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elke_tanzer/pseuds/Elke%20Tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heat shimmers off skin like a desert afternoon, like a mirage or a hallucination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash Flood

**Author's Note:**

> I scrawled this down as it clawed its way out of my mind when I got home one evening earlier this week. Apparently this is what happens when I miss fandom very much and am stuck in traffic on my way home and wistfully remember a glorious thunderstorm sweeping across the sky south of the highway, one hot July afternoon on my way to a very porntastic Con*Strict in Vegas one year, the road spinning away beneath me, the sky and the desert and the open wide spaces and the wild wind.

Heat shimmers off skin like a desert afternoon, like a mirage or a hallucination. Slick and hot and sticky, their bodies crash together, gasps rasping like lightning shredding across the dark clouds of the summer sky outside.

He's wanted, and wanted not to want, for so damned _long_. It feels like forever... and suddenly with the push of a gusty humid wind, that heat has risen, crested, found its unexpected match and broken wide.

Towering thunderheads open up to wash the pavement outside with great sweeping sheets of water, and inside, rushing torrents of _want_ and _need_ have come crashing down and the parched earth revels in the surge of it. Somewhere under the churning suddenness, this afternoon may leave open furrows, sore and deep and bleeding in its wake, but for now he takes and he gives and there is only this one perfect thing.

They're _alive_, and _this_ is what they've never realized they had within their reach, and if he could think he'd be trying to figure out why they hadn't allowed themselves this before since it's been here all along, why this storm has broken here and now and with such force. But thinking's not really in the cards just now, and oh, hell yeah, it's past high damned time they just _grabbed_ this and took it, so he rolls with it and they tumble and tangle and revel in each other.

Dean kind of really wishes he had more arms to hold with, more hands to grasp with, more mouths to lick and suck and drag across the salt of Sam's skin as they writhe and slide across each other on the damp, dingy sheets, but for now, for this moment, for this bit of forever, he thinks that everything he is, everything he has, might just be enough. He scratches his cheek along the side of Sam's neck, tries to catch his breath in this broken down, _cursed_ he thinks, _cursed_ hotel room, and whispers, as the heat begins to rise yet again between them, and the thunder rolls outside like hunger, "Aw, _fuck_, Sam."


End file.
